Little Comedian
by SaintAugustana
Summary: A new universe I'm playing around with. Comedian Rorschach c Watchmen comics, Ellery c me. Warning: spanking/cp/corporal punishment of a minor. Makes more sense if you've seen the movie.


**Author's Note: A nice little change of pace for you. **

My name is Ellery Blake. My father is Edward Blake. If that's not a'ringin' any bells, it's because you know him better as The Comedian. I know him better as... well, right now, the disgruntled drunk at the door.

I ignored the pounding on the door and focused back on my math homework, figuring he'd find his key eventually – it was early morning and he hadn't been home since yesterday evening, probably drinking too much and ended up sleeping it off somewhere.

_2.87 times x/y when x equals -.4 and y is..._

Goddammit, I hate math, I hate school!

Dad stumbled in, shaking himself a bit, as if allowing the last remnants of drunkenness to splatter off of him.

He headed straight for the shower.

The phone beeped with a new message left on the machine.

He gave me an acknowledging glance and hit the play button with his finger, taking a sober swig of blackened coffee.

_Hello, this is Mrs. Hillary Garza, Ellery's foreign language teacher – I'm afraid there's been some trouble with her in class..._

My mind went blank all of a sudden. _Shit, shit, shit! I forgot she was going to call..._

Subconsciously my hand went to my stomach, where I'd received a decent punch from Randall Sykes, a boy at school who'd pissed me off. In Spanish.

I heard Dad hit the button again and make an advance towards me. I scrambled out of my chair super quickly, backing away from him.

"Goddammit, Ellery, what the hell did you do this time?" He shouted, exasperated.

"He had it coming!"

He let out a frustrated snarl and reached out to grab me, but I broke for the hall. He leapt over the couch and snatched my collar just as I was dodging around the coffee table. I was lifted off my feet in an instant and dumped over his lap on the couch.

"No, Dad, don't!" I pleaded, instinctively wrapping my arms around his leg, under my head.

He raised his hand and brought it down several times on the seat of my cargoes. I shuddered and yelped with each one, squeezing my eyes shut against the immense burn.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?" He bellowed.

But I had my sweaty head buried in my arms in attempt to squelch the tears beginning to spill, afraid to answer lest he'd hear my pathetic crying.

The torrent of swats continued, then paused for a moment or two.

"Ellery Blake, you have three goddamn seconds to answer me before I take off my belt."

At this point, nothing seemed it could be worse than my current plight, but I wasn't really willing to risk a strapping.

"I got into a fight!" I shouted out, crying openly now, face hot. "Ow!"

He landed a sharp smack on the back of my head and I grimaced.

"Who started it?" He demanded, ceasing in his fury of swats.

Taking a moment to catch my breath and blink back tears, I answered back with a shaky "him."

Another sharp slap jolted me back to the burning fire in my butt.

"He did, Dad, I _swear_! It wasn't me, it wasn't me!"

I tensed again, expecting another blow, but instead I was yanked to my feet and pulled close, face-to-face with The Comedian.

I tried to casually brush away my tears. "That asshole Randy said things about Rorschach. We got into an argument, he pushed me, I tackled him, he punched me, and we were on the ground for a long time before the teachers came and pulled us apart."

"Little bitch," Dad mumbled under his breath at a nonexistent Randy. I was about to open my mouth and agree wholeheartedly, but he started in again. "Who won?"

"The teachers only knew we were fighting because Randy started screaming bloody murder in the middle of it. Something about his arm bein' broke."

Dad was at least somewhat proud of my scrapping ability (which was just in his nature.) "That hospital bill is coming out of that jar."

I had a giant jar of random bills and coins in my room, my savings.

"Fine," I grumbled.

Dad slapped the side of my face, none-too-gently. "Try that again?" It was more of an order than a suggestion.

"Yes, sir," I whispered, more respectfully.

Still crying, I rubbed my backside tenderly as he stood up, took me by the bicep and dragged me to my room.

"How come I'm still being punished?" I whined.

"For letting that bitch get to you." He bent down to my level. " Rorschach can take care of himself – he don't need you defending him, got it? You wanna be a Watchman, you learn that and learn it good, you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," I nodded.

"Good. I'm ordering pizza."

"Wait – can I get my homework from the kitchen table?" I ventured.

"Hurry up." He let me go and I sort-of-ran-sort-of-hobbled-painfully to the other room, grabbed the papers, and ran back. He gave my head a semi-affectionate push as I crossed the threshold into the hallway. I was about to head into my room, but remembered something.

"You really think I could be a Watchman?" I inquired.

He fixed me with a stare so penetrating I thought he was looking at something directly behind me.

"I think you should get your head screwed on right."

I nodded, my mouth hinting at a grin.

"Bed," he gripped my arm again and propelled me into my room with a final sharp swat.

I collapsed on the bed, textbooks open, just as the door snapped shut behind me.


End file.
